Monkies on the Loose
by Miss American Pie
Summary: Sequel to Monkies in the Middle.  Now that Spencer WyndhamPryce is fourteen, he and his siblings can get into a lot more trouble.  Will Fred and Wesley be able to handle it?
1. The Family

Disclaimer: I own Spencer, Jamie, Chris, and Michelle but that's all. The other brilliant characters belong to the genius, Joss Whedon.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the sequel to my other story, Monkies in the Middle. It takes place six years in the future, so fun abound with the teenager monkies!

Los Angeles, California, October 5, 2010

Mumbling as he struck the alarm clock, Spencer rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. Why should he have to go to school so early? He could always just stumble in around noon. Yeah, noon, was lunchtime. Perfect.

Suddenly, the door opened and his father peaked his head in, "Spencer, get up. You have school today."

Groaning some more, Spencer shook his head, telling his dad that drastic measures were needed if he wanted his son to get up.

Knowing these drastic measures, Wesley stepped over the piles of discarded clothes, magazines, and soccer equipment, and pulled the blinds open, letting a heavy ray of golden, California sunshine in.

"Dad," the boy quipped as the covers were pulled off of his head, though he crawled out of bed knowing resistance was futile. "There," he started, pulling on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, "happy?"

Nodding, Wesley turned to leave the room and get his older son up, "I'd be happier if I didn't have to pull my two teenage sons out of bed every morning. Why can't you be more like your sister. She's up on time every morning."

"Don't exaggerate, it's only Monday through Friday," Spencer said, getting a annoyed sideways glance, "and we can't be more like Jamie because we're the normal ones in this family."

Ignoring his last comment, Wesley sighed and went to pull Chris out of bed while Spencer proceeded to put a pair of sneakers on and collect his soccer equipment around his bedroom floor. He was searching for his shorts when he saw his mom standing at the entrance to his bedroom looking at the mess before her as if it was radioactive. . .which it might well have been.

"Uh. . .are my shorts in the laundry room," he asked, hoping that she wasn't going to go off at him for not cleaning his room up for the last three weeks.

"No, they're on your lamp, honey," she pointed behind him, where sure enough, his shorts were hanging from the lamp, "and when was the last time you cleaned up this mess?"

Knowing it was coming, Spencer hoped he could play his cute, innocent card that usually got him off the hook with his mother. "I'm sorry, Mom, it's just that I've been so busy with soccer and winning the science fair and all. I'll do it this weekend. Promise."

Smiling at him, Fred knew what he was doing, but gave in, "alright, just keep the door closed."

Nodding, Spencer finished packing his bag, and headed off to the bathroom, where he found the door locked.

"Come on, Jamie! How long have you been in there? An hour," he yelled through the door, though backed off when his sister emerged.

"No. For your information I've been in here for twenty minutes, and intend to be in here another twenty. So, get comfortable," she said in her sly tone that always annoyed the boys.

"Well, can I at least brush my teeth and take a leak," he asked, though the door was shut in his face and locked again.

"I hate living with girls," he said under his breath, then caught sight of his father coming out of Chris' room. "Hey, Dad, can you help me out here? She's been in there for twenty minutes!"

Sighing and knocking on the door, Wesley pushed Spencer back a little bit so that he could avoid an infamous morning fight, and talked to her for a moment. Emerging a minute later, he handed Spencer his toothbrush, "use the downstairs bathroom," then disappeared downstairs before the boy could argue.

Rolling his eyes, though knowing he could get grounded for talking back at this time of the morning, Spencer collected his backpack and soccer bag and headed downstairs, toothbrush in hand.

After taking care of his teeth, swearing he'd start getting up earlier so he could beat Jamie to the bathroom, Spencer headed into the kitchen to heat breakfast with his two older siblings, supposing his mom and dad were upstairs getting Michelle and Henry ready for school and daycare. He was old enough to get his own breakfast though, so this didn't bother him.

At quarter past seven his parents joined them at the breakfast table along with his two younger siblings, just as the older three finished and placed their dishes in the dishwasher.

"Alright, I'm leaving," Chris said, picking up his skateboard. Knowing not to argue with him about skateboarding to school, Wesley waved him goodbye. Pausing to hug his younger siblings, not including Spencer or Jamie, Chris was out the door before his mom was able to say anything.

"Yeah, me too," Jamie chimed in, grabbing her basketball bag and backpack, then continuing, "Andy's walking me to school."

Before Wesley could lift his head and show the rest of his family his indignant look, Jamie had disappeared out the door.

"Andy? Who's Andy," he asked his wife. Chiming in, Spencer made his siblings laugh as he pretended to faint. "Who's Andy? Only the cutest, strongest, smartest, according to Jamie, boy on this planet. Oh yeah, and they're dating."

Choking on a bite of toast, Wesley looked to Fred again, "did you know about this?"

Nodding, and smiling, Fred placed her hand on Wesley's, "Wes, we've had this conversation, she fifteen, almost sixteen, and we said she could start dating at sixteen."

"Yeah, but she still has another month until she's sixteen. What happened to my tomboy," he asked himself.

"Well, she's making out with a football jock behind the bleachers on Friday afternoons, I'll tell you that much," Spencer laughed as his mother swatted him and his father gave him a deeply annoyed look.

"Real. . .," Wesley started but was cut off as Fred gave him another look. "I'm sure Spencer is just joking. Right, Spencer," she said giving him a sharper look.

"Actually, no. I wasn. . .," cutting himself off as he heard a car horn outside, Spencer perked up like a puppy and ran to the window and left the room for a minute, the came back grabbing his bags and making for the back door.

"And where are you going? I thought I was driving you today," Wesley asked as he finished his toast.

"Uh. . .no, Carrie's mom is driving us. Gotta go," he said, seeming a little too mysterious for Wesley's taste.

"Us? Carrie," he asked, standing and following his son out to the driveway.

"Dad! You can pick me up from soccer. It's over at four," Spencer hissed and shooed him back into the house.

"No, I have to work until five today. Isn't soccer usually until five," he asked forgetting Carrie for a moment.

"Well, it's not today. I'll just walk home. Bye," with this the boy rushed off and climbed into the BMW parked in the drive, greeting an older woman with hello, and a girl his age with a kiss.

Nearly dropping his cup of tea, Wesley headed back into the house. What else was going on that he didn't know about?

"Fred, did you know that Spencer has a girlfriend," Wesley asked. Leaning in for a kiss, Fred smiled.

"He's fourteen, Wesley. I think it's alright. I thought he told you," she replied placing some dishes in the dishwasher.

"Well, he didn't. When did they all grow up," shaking his head, he caught sight of his youngest two children, then pointed, "no growing up."

Giggling, the children ran to his arms and hugged him, "okay, Daddy."

Smiling, Fred grabbed his briefcase and Michelle backpack, and the four of them piled into the SUV

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Kicking the ball ahead of him, Spencer made his way through jungle gyms and park benches as he headed home. Why couldn't his dad just get off at four that day? Oh well. At least he'd have the house to himself before the chaos of the evening started. He had a lot of homework but that could wait until later.

Suddenly, lost in his thoughts, the boy kicked the ball further ahead of himself than he intended and lost it in the bushes.

"Shit," he heard himself say, not fearing being caught though. He only had to watch his language at home.

Crouching down, he reached his hand into the bushes, hoping that nothing had made its home there and would see his hand as an intruder. "Damn ball, come on," he demanded though knew it did no good.

Looking over his shoulder for assistance, he caught sight of the steps to the high school. There was a man there sweeping. Perhaps he would help get the ball out of the bush. Standing and brushing his knees off, Spencer headed back towards the school, wondering how much time he'd have to waste explaining the man about his ball. All he wanted right now was to go home and dominate the TV before he had to be stuck watching stupid kiddy cartoons with Michelle and Henry.

Realizing he was close enough to yell for the man, Spencer started to let the words leave his mouth, but stopped. Focusing for a moment, he felt his body growing weak. It couldn't be! Wanting to get closer and find out, he made to take a step, but was suddenly tackled from behind.

Rolling over, he found Carrie beside him, smiling. "Hey, cutie, what's up," she asked following this with a quick kiss.

"Oh, hey, nothing. I just. . .I was on my way home," he said, standing and glancing over his shoulder to find that the janitor had disappeared.

"Well, do you want me to walk you," she asked, handing him her backpack, which meant she was coming regardless of his answer.

"Yeah, that'd be great," knowing he'd be kicking himself if one of his parents came home early to find them there alone, Spencer felt like saying 'no', but then remember how his dad couldn't get off work to pick him up from practice. Why should he get off work early to come home?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After a fifteen minute walk through the suburban neighborhoods surrounding the school, the two finally came to the large brick house. Opening the gate and backdoor for his girlfriend, Spencer followed her into the house, checking all the rooms to make sure no one else was home, which they weren't.

"So, I guess we're alone," he started, then continued, "want a snack?" After she nodded, he retrieved two drinks from the fridge and sat down with her in the living room, sipping quietly at his.

This was all new to him. What was he supposed to do? Answering this question, Carrie placed her drink on the coffee table and leaned over, kissing him. She certainly was a little more experienced than Spencer. Of course, she had dated a junior before him, which made him feel all the more special as a freshman.

After what seemed like an eternity and a really good lesson in kissing, Spencer broke away from her, "hey, sorry, but um. . .what time is it?" Looking at him as if he was crazy, Carrie and Spencer were both startled when the answer came from the entrance to the living room.

"It's five-fifteen," Wesley answered his son's question. Not looking him in the eye, Spencer preferred to instead focus on his older sister, who was nearly on the floor in a fit of silent laughter behind their dad.

"Uh. . .I. . .Carrie, I think I have a lot of homework to do. I'll. . .um. . .see you at school tomorrow," he said as she stood, walking past Wesley and Jamie to the front door, "okay, bye."

Closing his eyes as he heard the front door close, Spencer opened them after a moment of nothing happening, but too his dismay his father was still standing there, now with a smug grin, "I think you and I need to have a talk."

Not able to contain her laughter this time, Jamie broke down and giggled as Wesley motioned Spencer into his office.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

An hour later, Fred was in the kitchen making dinner, listening to her eldest daughter describe Spencer's ordeal when the boy finally entered the kitchen looking less than thrilled with the conversation he and his father had had.

"Hey, honey, I. . .," Fred started, but he cut her off by going into the living room, where Chris was sitting watching TV.

Sitting, Spencer felt safe from teasing around his older brother, but was soon proved wrong as Chris wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close. "So, tell me, Spencer, my boy, what do you know about girls," he started but was pushed away.

"Shut up, Chris, or I'll kick your. . .butt," he whispered loudly, but stopped himself from saying the profane word, conscious that his family was around.

"Sit down, twerp. I was only kidding. He gave you 'the talk', didn't he," Chris asked, now seeming more sympathetic to Spencer's plight.

Sitting and nodding, Spencer groaned, "yeah. I don't see why though! I've never even thought of doing. . .that," he said, shaking his head.

Grinning, Chris was glad they had some common ground now. It wasn't like they were completely different, just in most ways. He was good at building things and made decent grades in everything else, whereas Spencer seemed to be smart at everything and great at sports. Most people didn't even guess they lived in the same house.

"Oh, don't worry, I'm sure you'll be a normal teenage boy yet," Chris said, falling back into his teasing mode and pinching Spencer's cheeks. "Shut up," Spencer said, going to tackle his older brother just as their two youngest siblings came in.

"Mommy says that dinner is ready and you both have to come right now," Michelle said, jumping on them. Lifting her into his arms, Chris smiled, "did she? I don't believe you!"

Sticking out her tongue, Michelle giggled as her eldest brother carried her into the kitchen, followed by Spencer who had Henry's hand.

Sitting as a family, all embarrassments forgotten, they began to talk about their day. "Oh, man, I just remembered," Spencer looked up from his chicken, "I forgot my soccer ball in the park and. . .," he froze again remembering the man, but shook it dismissed it as his eyes playing tricks on him.

"And what, sweetie," Fred asked, but Spencer shook his head, "nothing, I just forgot the ball. I'll go back tomorrow for it."

With that the dinner conversation continued. Little did any of them know that the man Spencer so easily dismissed as a figment of his imagination was about to turn the boy's perception of his perfect family upside down.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Uh-oh! Who is this guy? Leave me some feedback on what you think, or what you'd like to see in coming chapters!


	2. My Father

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character from Angel the TV show. They all belong to the wonderful and talented Joss Whedon.

The next day. . .

"Shit, come on," the boy swore as the ball remained in the bushes. Why had he even mentioned it to his parents the night before? Maybe if he had kept his mouth shut his father wouldn't have griped at him over breakfast, telling him that it was his responsibility to get the ball before it was lost.It's not like he even really cared about it that much. He had four more in the garage.

"Damn ball," he said, thinking that he should probably go find that janitor, just as it finally came rolling into his arms. Sitting back, hewas wipingit clean when the late bell rang. "Damn, damn, damn ball," Spencer swore, standing and sprinting towards the school building, hoping to make it in time to use the excuse that his locker had jammed. Of course, luck was not on his side and he soon found his spirits and his body on the wet, morning grass.

Rolling over, winded and tired, he felt like giving up. Maybe he should just skip school today. Of course, Jamie would run her mouth that he had, seeing as they both had lunch together. What did he care though? What did his parents care? He hadn't missed a day yet that year.

Then, a thought occured to him. The thought of his father's voice yelling at him when he was busted. No, skipping school would not be a good idea. Standing and brushing his pants off, Spencer walked warily towards the school building. Maybe his Mrs. Walker was feeling generous that day and would only give him a detention, instead of calling his parents.

Entering the school, he made his way quickly to his locker, and found that he did have an excuse for being late. It was jammed. "Can this day get any worse," he asked himself, and immediately regretted it, "great, I've jinxed myself."

Heading towards the office, he dragged his feet as he approached the secretary. "May I help you, dear," she asked, eyeing the grass stains on his shirt. "Yes, ma'am, my locker's jammed. Number 728," he replied, hoping she didn't inquire about his appearance. "Okay, I'll get a janitor, you go wait for him," was all she said, thankfully.

Feeling a little bit better as he headed back to his locker, Spencer didn't even mind having to wait ten minutes, seeing as he was getting to miss his least favorite class. Seeing the janitor approach, he didn't pay much attention but rather stood from his sitting position next to his locker.

"Uh, thanks," he said, collecting his backpack and soccer gear from the floor. "No problem, kid," the man said in a gruff voice that caught Spencer's attention. Forcing himself to look at the man only reaffirmed his terror. It was the same one as yesterday. He hadn't imagined it. He had to get out of here, he had to flee. Turning on his heel, the boy took off at full speed towards his class room hearing the man calling after him, his heart pounding madly in his ears, and the scene he couldn't forget playing over and over in his mind.

Opening his classroom door, he slammed it shut when he was inside, hoping to make everything stop. "Spencer," his teacher said sharply, looking up at him from her desk, but then stopping as she took in his appearance. He seemed frightened, as if he was close to tears. Approaching him, she opened the door and motioned him into the hallway, but he shook his head and instead took his seat, surprising her.

Spencer had always been a quiet, obedient boy, so this was very out-of-character for him. "Well, then, do you have an excuse for being l. . .," she started, but was cut off, "no." Surprised at this, Mrs. Walker made a note to have him called down to guidance later. For now, she decided to continue on with the lesson as planned.

Turning her back, she started to copy the day's notes onto the board, occasionally throwing a glance in Spencer's direction. Leaning over to him, Josh, his best friend, felt concern for Spencer, "hey, man, are you alright," he asked going to put a hand on Spencer's shoulder but having it brushed off. "I'm fine, Josh," he replied, turning his back on his friend, something the usually warm and happy Spencer would never do.

Not caring about the notes on the board, the lesson, or even what his friends were thinking about him, Spencer focused instead on how isolated he felt. No one understood what he was going through. What was he going to do, now? This was still the question on his mind an hour later when the bell that dismissed class rang. "Remember, the whole worksheet is for homework! Oh, Spencer, would you mind staying after. . .," Spencer heard as he drifted out the door.

He didn't feel like listening to her ask him questions and try to figure out what was wrong with him. He knew what was wrong with him, he just didn't know how to fix it. He felt so scared, and now mad, all at once. Why should that man walk free after he ruined his life so much? Why should he get to have a normal existence when Spencer still had that horrible scene in his head?

Knowing what he had to do, what his three-year-old self had not been able to do, Spencer made his way to the cafeteria. He calmly purchased a drink from the machine just as the bell rang again. He didn't hear it though, he was too focused on what he was about to do. Maybe this is the way that man had felt before he had completely ruined Spencer's life eleven years ago. Then, again, Spencer doubted he had much of a conscious.

Walking through the halls,not caring if he was caught skipping class or not, Spencer finally found what he was looking for, the janitor's closet. Taking the cap off his drink, he dumped it on the floor in front of the tiny closet, then crouched in a corner, where he couldn't be seen, and waited.

After what seemed like forever, the man finally showed up, mop in hand ready to clean up the mess Spencer had made. Of course, Spencer was ready to confront the man about the mess he had made. . .of the boy's life. Stepping out of the shadows, Spencer looked the man up and down. He hadn't changed that much, maybe a prison tattoo here and there, but he was still his biological father.

Turning the man looked at the boy. "Oh, I got your locker open, kid. Guess you were really late, huh," he smiled, then went back to mopping. "I hate you," Spencer heard himself say as the man looked up again, taking in the boy's appearance. Dropping the false cheeriness, William fixed him with a glare, "you're not the only one you know."

Next thing he knew, Spencer found himself against a locker, pinned. He had swung his fist, but the older, stronger man had anticipated it and not only deflected the blow, but also kneed the boy in the stomach. "What's wrong with you, eh? Mommy and daddy not buy you a new car or something," the man asked.

"I don't have a mom thanks to you," Spencer spat back as the man's eyes widened and he forced the boy into the closet. Closing the door behind them, the man looked Spencer up and down carefully. "Spencer," he asked no one in particular as the boy nodded, then lunged at him again. "You killed my mother,"he yelled, but the man pinned him to the wall again. "You don't know the full story," the man tried to reason while the boy struggled.

"I know enough. You came in, you shot her, you left me," the boy replied, still fighting. He didn't care what it took. He was going to get his revenge on this man. "You don't know why though! I was young, only a little older than you. . .," he started but Spencer kicked him, "shut up, I don't care what your excuse is! You're my father, you should have cared for us more!"

With that, Spencer had the air knocked out of him as he wasforced into the wall, "listen here, I am not your father. I never was and never will be. Your whore of a mother forced you into me. If you want a dad, go to Greg!" Tears welling up, mouth wide open, Spencer looked at the man before him. This man who wasn't his father. "What do you mean," he asked slowly, trying to process it all.

"I mean what I said. You're not my son. Greg's your father. Now get lost and don't ever bother me again," the man growled,throwingthe boy to the floorand disappearinginto the hall, closing the door on his way out. He had said it plain as day, but Spencer was still having a hard time processing it. The man who he thought was his father, the man who had shot his mother, was not his father. The man who was a father-figure to him for years, the man who had shot him, was his father. It was all too much!

Standing shakily, he didn't let the tears hit him until he was outside in the park area by the school. Forget it. He didn'tcare how much his parents yelled at him, he wasn't going back in there ever again if he could help it.

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Sighing as he enteredthe lab to find Fred and his youngest son, Wesleyexaminedthedrawers at Fred's desk. "What's wrong," Fred asked, reading his body language. "Spencer's skipped his last three classes and lunch," he said, now looking for his car keys, "first the principal called me, then Jamie, which reminds me, she's not supposed to be using that cellphone in school, is she," he added knowing Fred would ask.

"He's skipping his classes," she stopped focusing on the potion in front of her for a moment, though kept Henry's hand in hers to make sure he wasn't playing with it. "Yes, he is, and I'll bet I know what he's doing," Wesley replied, stalking off without a goodbye kiss. He was furious at the moment. He knew he should have given Spencer a more stern talking to the night before. Now, he was probably home or behind the school bleachers doing only God knew what with his girlfriend.

Not for long, thought Wesley, I'm going to find him wherever he's at, and when I do he's in for it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Having sped home through Los Angeles traffic, Wesley didn't bother parking his car in the garage, but rather just left it tosit in the driveway. He could see that someone had gone through the back gate since he had locked it that morning, and the only ones with keys were the older kids, Fred, and himself. Storming through it, he stalked past the pool and through the unlocked back door, glad that he at least didn't find clothes strewn all over the place. Maybe he was a little wrong, Chris was the more mature, knowledgeable one when it came to girls and what went on when parents weren't looking.

Nevertheless, he was mad that Spencer was skipping his classes, "Spencer, get your arse in here now, I know you're home," he yelled, standing in the middle of the kitchen with his arms folded. After a minute of not hearing anything, he decided that it was too long and took off for the stairs, nearly running headlong into the object of his frustration at the top.

"What the hell do you think you're doing skipping school," he half-shouted, getting ready to argue with his middle son, though halting when he saw his tear-stained face.Trying hard to wipe the tear stains away, Spencer turned for a moment. "What's wrong," Wesley asked, hoping that his excuse wasn't that his girlfriend has broken up with him, but knowing that Spencer was smarter than to get so upset about something like that.

Shaking his head, he didn't know how to phrase it. His father wasn't his real-father? The man who shot him also fathered him but never found it important enough to mention? "M-my father, who killed my mother, isn't my real father," Spencer finally managed after Wesley had steered him towards a seat on the couch and given him a glass of water.

Sitting opposite him, Wesley felt his heart leap into his throat. How much did Spencer know? "Spence,how do you know that," Wesley asked, calling his son by his nickname. "He told me. He's a janitor at my school," Spencer replied, leaning back on the couch then continuing, "he said that she was a whore and that Greg's my real dad. He shot me, and he's my dad."

Spencer couldn't quite come to grips with this, "he didn't even stop afterwards, Dad, he just ran." Wesley nodded looking at the floor. He had known all along that it would be hard for Spencer to accept this. That's why he and Fred had promised each other to never tell him. Perhaps it was wrong, but it prevented things like this from happening. "He taughtme to steal and then he abandoned me, twice," Spencer continued as Wesley put a hand on his shoulder.

Hoping he was doing all right at acting surprised, Wesley didn't know what else to do. Would telling Spencer that he and his mother knew all along be the right thing? The boy would be furious. He wouldn't understand that at the time it seemed like the right thing to do since he was already able to accept that his 'father' had shot his mother. Why put him through the shock that his real father had shot him and not thought twice about running away.

"I hate him," Spencer finally managed to find words for all the emotions inside of him, "I really, really hate him! He didn't even tell me he was my dad!" Looking up at Spencer, Wesleyshook his head, "hate doesn't help anything, believe me. Maybe he didn't know. Maybe you should," thinking hard for a moment, then deciding it was the right thing to do, he continued, "talk to him."

"No! I don't want anything to do with him. It's his fault my mom got killed! He should have taken responsibility for me! He's not my dad, you are," Spencer stood, "besides, where would I talk to him? Jail?" Not knowing what to do or say, Wesley knew that talking to Fred that night would help. They could come up with a way to approach this together and tell Spencer the truth. With some careful explaining, he would eventually be able to accept that it had been for his well being.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Or would he? Poor Spencer is in for a surprise in the next chapter! Please review.


	3. Lies

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Angel characters. They, of course, belong to Joss Whedon.

The next day. . .

Opening his eyes and swinging his arm out to hit his alarm clock, Spencer realized that it was not ringing loudly as it usually was when he woke up. Glancing at it, he felt his heart race as he read eleven-thirty, instead of seven. Quickly throwing the covers off, he dashed about his messy room, grabbing jeans and a t-shirt and pulling them on. He was incredibly late! Why hadn't his father pulled him out of bed like he usually did? Why hadn't his mother come up to tell him breakfast was ready?

Dashing into the hallway, pulling on his sneakers as he went, he found his father coming up the stairs. "What's going on," he asked, wondering if he was in some sort of trouble. "Your mum and I decided it would be best if you didn't go to school today," was the reply he received. Leaning on the banister, Spencer nodded, memories of the day before flooding his mind. "Oh, yeah," he said, then looked up, "I don't want to go back if he's still. . ."

Holding up a hand, Wesley paused his son, "we're taking care of it." Nodding, Spencer looked back at the hardwood floors just as his stomach rumbled. "Come on, I'll get you a hamburger," the older man nodded his head towards the stairs, signaling for Spencer to follow him. It surprised Spencer that he had offered seeing as the one thing his dad hated more than evil demons was hamburgers. He would never tell the kids why though, just mumbled that they were a 'cranky' food, whatever that meant.

Following him downstairs and out into the cool Los Angeles air, Spencer climbed into the same SUV that had brought him home when he was seven-years-old. "Dad, do Jamie and Chris know about. . .you know," he asked, hesitantly. Shaking his head, Wesley felt his stomach drop. He and Fred were going to tell him that they knew all along that night, they had already decided that, but it didn't make it any easier. "No, we just told them you had a stomach flu," he replied, turning the engine.

Nodding, Spencer felt relieved. He didn't want his siblings knowing who his real father was. It was embarrassing, seeing as they had known who their parents were and there had never been a doubt. Spencer didn't come from the same background they came from, which he was able to forget sometimes though other times it ate at him. The rest of the drive was silent, from the house to the hamburger stand, then finally to Wolfram and Hart. It didn't matter to either male, though. The silence gave them time to think about their separate predicaments.

The silence ended however, when they stepped into Fred's lab. See hadn't seen Spencer the night before seeing as he had shut himself in his room. Wesley had pulled her into the kitchen the night before though and explained the whole situation out of earshot of the kids. He had been right, too. Spencer did look exhausted and troubled. Hugging him, she felt his body untense. "You're okay," she asked, receiving a nod. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just don't want to ever see him again," Spencer replied as Henry came and gave him a hug, too.

"Well, you won't have to. Oh, your dad got your a hamburger," she laughed at Wesley who rolled his eyes and excused himself to his office. It was best if they pretended things were normal for Spencer and Henry's sake. "Yeah, though he did say it was a cranky food, again. What does that mean, Mom," Spencer felt himself relaxing as he sat down to eat his lunch, sharing the fries with Henry. "It's British," she threw over her shoulder, going back to working on her potion.

Spencer seemed to become more and more relaxed as he and Henry finished the meal, then began playing with test tubes in the lab. Fred tried to keep an eye on them to make sure they didn't break anything, but honestly, she didn't care. Just as long as Spencer wasn't upset, she was fine. She still remembered the first time he had come into her lab. He had been upset then, too.

The sound of breaking glass from behind her made her start, turning she looked at the boys and the broken test tube between them. "That wasn't me," Spencer declared, putting his famous, 'it wasn't me' face on. Smiling, she handed him a towel to clean up the mess. "I think that's enough of that for now," she said, lifting Henry into her arms, "besides it's your nap time."

Cleaning the mess as Fred laid Henry on the cot in her office, Spencer was struck by an idea. Throwing the glass shards and towel into the trash bin, he looked up as his mother came back downstairs. "Spencer, I know that you're really confused right now, and everything, but. . .," Fred started now that they were alone, but Spencer interrupted her, "I'm not confused." Continuing she tried to think of a different way to state what she was getting at, "no, you're not, you're. . .well, what I'm trying to say is that your dad and I. . .we need to. . .," she tried to finish her statement, but was again interrupted, this time by Knox.

"Hey, Fred, we just got those new crystal vials, you should check them out," he grinned to her, his crush still obvious even though Fred was happily married. Giving him a look of disdain, Spencer flipped him the finger while his mother's back was turned. Knox's indignant look caused Fred to turn around, but it was too late, Spencer had already gone back to his sweet and not-so-innocent self. He had learned a long time ago how to be bad and not get caught, though that didn't mean his parents didn't catch on. . .eventually.

"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he excused himself, though was called back, "Spencer." Turning, expecting to be scolded, he looked his mother in the eye, "yes?" Waving her hand, Fred dismissed the idea, "nevermind, sweetie, we'll finish talking later." Smiling an evil grin to Knox, Spencer took his leave, hurrying down the corridors of Wolfram and Hart to his destination.

"Yes, sweetcakes, it's not that big of a deal, we can surely get you a new pair of hot pink disco pants," Spencer froze as his Uncle Lorne came around the corner, chatting with a client on his cellphone, "oh, hey, Spenceykins, how's life," he asked, patting the boy on the shoulder. "Uh, fine, Uncle Lorne," Spencer replied, trying to make his escape, "good, good. Hey, come by my office sometime. I haven't seen you in forever," Lorne smiled, then grimaced as his client yelled at him through the phone, "killer clients. What are you going to do though?"

With that, Lorne was gone and Spencer was free to make a quick dash for the research corridor, hoping he didn't run into anyone else. Spotting his destination, he relaxed and counted his steps as he closed in, "fifteen, fourteen. . .," suddenly his father popped out of nowhere one-hundred yards ahead of him, talking with Angel and his mother. "Shit," Spencer whispered to himself, though didn't stop his stride. He was going to make it no matter what. "Six, five, four, three," just then his father looked up, but Spencer made a mad dash for the door, and quickly closed it.

He didn't think he had been seen, and as he looked around he discovered that he had made it to his destination, the file room. Standing, he started as a voice called his name, "Spencer." Spinning, he found a woman in her mid-twenties sitting there. "H-how did you know my name," he asked as she smiled. "I know everything. Well, that and your parents talk about you a lot. They talk about all of their children a lot," she replied, stoically. "Oh, well, good, then you might know what I'm looking for," he started hesitantly, wondering if they had ever mentioned that the children were not supposed to be in the file room.

"Yes. You're looking for you file," she said, holding up a file, then continued, "I knew you were coming." Nodding, he knew she wanted him to negotiate. "Right, now if you give me the file, I'll tell my dad what a great gal you are," he said with a smile. Shaking her head, Spencer knew she didn't accept this offer, "no, you won't. Your father doesn't want you in here."

Nodding, again, he put on his innocent act, "you're right, but I need that file, I need to know about myself, do you understand that," he asked, though she automatically shook her head. "I don't have emotion," was her reply, letting Spencer know that drastic measures needed to be taken. Diving for the folder, he was easily able to grab it from her, and take off running down the rows of file cabinets. She didn't follow him either, just let him run. Crouching down, he heard the door to the file room open and footsteps enter, but he didn't care.

He tuned the rest of the noise out as he opened the file. There were birthday pictures and report cards on the top, but he skimmed them off, and continued searching. His soccer picture, his fourth grade essay, his winning science fair report, his adoption paper, another adoption paper. . .wait! Why would there be two? They only had to adopt him from William, his mother was dead. Reading more carefully, Spencer noticed that the one for William had been filed before the second one, which had been filed for Greg. They had known.

"Spencer, what are you doing in here," his father asked from the end of the row, his mother, Angel, and Lorne standing behind him. "You lied to me," was all he could reply.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Poor Spencer. What will happen now? Oh, I don't mind you correcting my mistakes, it's cool. Just send me a pm instead of putting it in a review. That way it's more private! I appreciate it!


	4. Bumps and Bruises

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Angel character. They belong to Joss Whedon.

Getting up, Spencer felt like he had ice in his veins. How could this be? The only safe, honest, reliable people he had been taken care of by had been lying to him since they'd met him. It was just like every other story in his life. "You lied to me," he repeated, now a little louder as his rage grew, "you knew who my real father was the whole time!"

Brushing past them all, he quickened his pace as he heard their footsteps following him. All he wanted right now was to get out of there. Out of Wolfram and Hart. Out of Los Angeles. "Spencer, we need to talk," he heard his father plead, but he turned on him. "Talk about what? How you're a liar? How you knew all along, but let me believe something else," he knew he'd regret the words later, but right now didn't care.

"I know you're upset. . .," Wesley started but was cut off by the boy's scoff. "I don't think upset covers it," Spencer retorted, taking a step backwards into another hallway, continuing his escape, then turning his back on them and feeling a sharp pain in his body. "Spencer," Fred rushed to his side, taking his hand in hers, but the boy brushed it off, glaring at the mail cart that had just hit him.

"Get away from me," he said, low, angry. Standing, he continued on his way, this time only his father followed, and deciding that being nice was getting them no where, he went with a more stern approach. "Listen to me, Spencer. You may not like the fact that we lied to you, but we did it for you. For your protection." Spencer was almost able to see this point, but that didn't help the feeling of betrayal that had settled on him.

"You lied because you wanted me to think that you were the only parents I had in this world, when actually I have a father that's alive and who was not in jail," Spencer said, stopping now to face the man he had grown to love over the past seven years. "Yes, Spencer, a father that's in jail now for breaking into our house, attempting robbery at another house with you as an accomplice, shooting, then kidnapping you," Wesley shot back, his voice rising.

The look on Spencer's face told him that he had gone too far, though. "Well, that's where I came from," Spencer said, a little more weak than before. Sighing, Wesley rubbed his eyes, "I'm sorry. I. . .," he began to apologize and try to amend, but Spencer shook his head, "no, it's true. My mom was a. . .," Cutting him off by shaking his head, Wesley watched as his son walked off. He knew Spencer wouldn't be leaving the building, but also knew he needed some time alone to think about everything. Perhaps talking to him later would be best.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Stalking off, Spencer felt loneliness creeping over him. Who could he talk to? His brother and sister wouldn't understand. They had never had a life like his. His mother and father wouldn't understand, and besides they had lied to him for seven years. They had also taken care of him though. So often they had sat up through the night when he had a fever, or taken him to the park instead of working.

Had Greg succeeded in kidnapping him, would that have been the story? Probably not. Spencer didn't know how many parks you could visit while on the run from the law. There was another question, too. Would Spencer, himself, be in jail for stealing had his parents not taken him in.

He didn't care. Lying was lying, and they had lied to him, a big one, too. He had every right to know who his real father was. No one should keep that from him. Especially not now that was almost an adult, or so he figured. Continuing his walk, he found himself in the hospital ward of Wolfram and Hart. The hallways seemed almost deserted. This was a good place to be alone.

Looking into the rooms, he found one that had no visiting family members in it and sat, and dozed. . .

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey, who are you," a female voice said from somewhere in the room. Sitting up, suddenly wide awake, Spencer found a light-brown haired lady looking upon him. "I uh. . .what," he asked, a little startled. Was he going to be in trouble for being there? "I asked who you were," she said, again, this time a little less defensive.

"I'm Spencer," he said, standing. Should he get a nurse or something? "Okay, Spencer. What's your last name," she asked, now more inquisitive, making him feel somewhat at ease. "Spencer Wyndam Pryce. Should I get a doctor or. . .," he began but was cut off by her squeal.

"Geese, what's wrong," he asked, running to her side to make sure there wasn't any bleeding or anything, but she just stared at him with a smile. "Wesley has kids. Damn! How long have I been out? Oh my God, let me guess, he got with Fred," she said, very excited, and staring at Spencer intently.

"Um. If by 'got', you mean married, then yeah. How do you know them," he asked, as she smiled to him again. She had a really nice smile he noted. "Their my friends. I'm Cordelia Chase. You have your mom's eyes, you know," she replied, causing a burning feeling in the pit of Spencer's stomach. "They're not my real parents, I'm adopted," he murmured. He hated telling people this.

"Oh, well, you looked well cared for, so they can't be that bad. I mean, I was worried about Fred being a mom for awhile because, I mean, you know, trapped in a hell dimension. Doesn't really bring out the maternal side of people, more the crazy side, but you, you look normal," she ranted. "Yeah, well, they're okay, I guess," he said, a little too quickly.

Catching onto the anger that had crossed the boy's face, and the way he had seemed to want to get away from the topic of Wesley and Fred so quickly, Cordelia looked down her nose at him. "What," she asked. "What do you mean, what," he replied, taking a seat by her bed. "I mean, are you in some sort of trouble? Let me guess. He makes you read those boring, old books for punishment," she said, remembering all the time she had spent looking through volumes about demons with her old friend. So boring!

"Not quite," Spencer looked at the floor. What could it hurt? She didn't really know the situation. For heaven sake, she had been in a coma for who knew how long. "They lied to me," he finally decided it was safe to tell her. Leaning in, intent on hearing what the boy had to say, she motioned for him to continue, "about my real father. They knew who he was and they didn't tell me," he said.

"Well, that doesn't sound like Wesley or Fred. How did you find out," she prompted. Looking up, Spencer began recalling his adventure in the record room, and how he had ended up there. Taking it all in, Cordelia couldn't help but see her friends in this child. The way he talked, somewhat awkwardly. That was Wesley and Fred for sure!

"And where is your real father, Greg," she finally asked after he paused. Averting his eyes to the floor, Spencer took his time in answering, "jail." Feeling the need to explain how he had been raised, then come to live with his parents, and then shot and kidnapped, Spencer let the words flow from him without any interruptions from Cordelia.

Nodding, as he finished, she shrugged, "well, it seems to me, that this is pretty obvious." Raising an eyebrow, Spencer shook his head, "what do you mean?" Rolling her eyes, Cordelia leaned forward, "I mean you're just another typical teenager who can't see what their parents are doing for them." "Oh, yes, lying to me, thanks a lot Mom and Dad," he retorted.

Throwing her arms in the air, she sighed, "face it, you really love them, and deep down you understand why they lied to you. They thought they were doing the best thing for you. It's what people do when they really love you," she said, taking in the still skeptical look on Spencer's face, then continuing, "and besides, this other father of yours shot you didn't he? I don't see you running to him for any type of comfort right now. No, you're talking to just-woke-up-from-a-coma girl, instead. Do you see my point?"

Still staring at the floor, Spencer nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, they should have let me see him. He is my dad. He shot me, but he's the only real family I have. I mean. . .he doesn't really care for me, does he," the boy let himself realize. "God, he shot me and left me, and he's my real father, and my dad sat with me at the hospital." Smiling, Cordy knew she had done her job. "It doesn't mean that he doesn't care for you, it just means he doesn't care for you as much as my friends do, and believe me, it seems like they care for you a lot."

Looking up, Spencer smiled, "yeah, they do, don't they?" Standing, he bent down and hugged her, "thanks a lot." Hugging him back, Cordelia pulled him close. "You've got to go back, now, sweetheart," she whispered. "Yeah, I'll go find my parents and apologize," he replied. Pulling away, Cordelia nodded, "they'll be waiting for you when you wake up, I guarantee it," she smiled as he shook his head, "when I wake up?"

Suddenly, a white light filled the room, and then faded to black, and Spencer felt a throbbing in his head. "Ow," he moaned, then brought his hand to his head. "Wes, he's awake," he heard his mother say from somewhere near him. "Spencer, Spencer," Wesley said as the boy opened his eyes, "how do you feel?"

Squinting at the bright light, Spencer sat up quickly and hugged his father, "I'm sorry for everything I said! You're the best dad in the world!" Smiling to Fred, Wesley gently pressed his son back onto the couch. "Well, I'm glad to hear that. Now, how do you feel? You had quite the run in with a mail cart."

"Mail cart? How long have I been out," Spencer asked a little dazed. "About two hours. We've been worried. Listen, Spencer, we're sorry we didn't tell you, it's just," waving a hand for his mother to stop explaining, the boy shook his head. "It's okay, you did what you thought was best for me. Cordelia helped me see that."

Exchanging glances, both adults looked to their son in surprise, "Cordy," Fred asked. "Yeah, she's awake from her coma," Spencer said, looking around for a sign of the woman he had been talking to not moment before. Shaking his head, Wesley shrugged to his wife, and handed Spencer a cold compress, "perhaps we should just keep an eye on you for awhile," he said.

Just then, the phone rang. Leaving Spencer on the couch, Wesley stood and answered it as Fred took his place, and Henry came closer, curious about how the bruise on his brother's head felt. Pressing the ice pack to his head and laying back down at his mother's insistence, Spencer watched his father on the phone.

"I see. . .yes. . .I'll be there in a moment," he said, rather amazed at what he was hearing. Hanging up, he made a quick dash for the door, "I'll be back in a moment," he said, but Fred caught him with a question, "what's going on?" Turning, he looked from Fred to Spencer, as if he was amazed by the boy, "Cordelia's awake."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Wow! So, what did you think? Please review!


	5. Giving Thanks

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Angel or Buffy The Vampire Slayer characters. They all belong to Joss Whedon.

Los Angeles, California, November 22, 2010

"Dad, will you pass the potatoes," Chris asked his father, who obliged and passed the potatoes down the table to him. "God, Fred, this turkey is amazing," Gunn piped in, and the others mumbled their agreement. "You've outdone yourself, sugar cakes," Lorne, who had never really celebrated Thanksgiving before he came to L.A. said whilst piling more beans onto his plate. Ruffling his little brother's hair as he yawned, Spencer reminded him of the chocolate cake and various pies that were in the refrigerator.

He had to admit, Thanksgiving by moonlight was one of the oddest traditions his family had, but who was he to complain? Good food, good conversations, usually more than one good laugh. This was pretty much the best holiday that you didn't get presents or candy for. Smiling to his Aunt Cordelia, who was seated to the right of his father, and left of his Uncle Angel, they both exchanged a knowing look, and then glanced away as Lorne burst into a random song.

"I want dessert," Michelle exclaimed from the end of the table, making every laugh. "You'll have to wait a moment," her mother said, placing another helping of carrots on the little girl's plate. "Finish those, then you can have dessert," she said, knowing Michelle hated carrots, and not really intending to make her finish them all. Suddenly, a large golden retriever broke loose of the house and came bounding towards the table. "Tybalt," Spencer yelled just before the dog crashed into his chair, sending him to the ground with the dog sniffing and licking him.

"Talk about love," Gunn giggled. "Talk about the pound," Spencer said, though everyone knew he loved that dog more than anything, even soccer. "I'll take him inside," the boy said, grabbing his dog by the collar and pulling him towards the house. Once inside, he made sure to close the door quickly, and then poured some food into the dog's dish, "there you go, old boy." Sitting on the kitchen floor, stroking the dog's silky fur as he ate, Spencer was started when the back door opened and closed, and Tybalt went crazy barking.

"Be quiet, you mutt," Wesley muttered, though patted the dog on the head. Standing up, Spencer went to walk back outside thinking his father had come in for something or other, but the older man blocked his way. "Can we talk for a second," he asked. Panicking, Spencer blurted the first thing that came to mind, "Jamie's the one responsible for the dent in your car! She hit it with a basketball! I was in no way practicing my penalty shot with you car!"

Raising an eyebrow, Wesley shook his head, "that's not what I wanted to talk to you about, but it is coming out of your allowance!" Grumbling, Spencer allowed himself to be steered towards a seat, "so what did you want to talk about," he asked. Hesitating for a moment, Wesley took a seat and looked at his son seriously. "It's about Greg," he began, watching Spencer carefully. "What about him," Spencer asked, clenching his knuckles. He had felt even more of a loathing for the man since he had learned that he was his father.

"Well, he's getting out of prison in a month, and I was just wondering if. . .perhaps. . .you wanted to go and see him," Wesley knew he was testing dangerous waters, but to his surprise Spencer just shook his head, "not really." Knowing his father was making to argue, Spencer shook his head again, "he's never been a real dad to me. I mean, the man shot me for God-sake. You've never shot me." Nodding in agreement, Wesley could see that his son had made up his mind, and knew it was not his job to try and get Spencer to go against what he believed. He thought perhaps it would be a good thing for Greg and his son to talk things out, but if the boy didn't want to that was fine.

He would have to have Wolfram and Hart track the man, though, and make sure he got out of L.A. There was no way he was handing Spencer over to Greg, though he doubted Spencer would go as willingly as he had when he was seven. "Right, then," Wesley said, drumming his fingers on the table, and looking out at the pool, which was reflecting the moon brilliantly. "Right," Spencer said, staring at the ceiling. After a few moments of silence, in which Spencer was sure that something unspoken was communicated, the boy stood and smiled, "isn't there some chocolate cake around here?"

Standing as well, Wesley patted him on the back, "yes, we'd better take that out before Michelle has to actually finish her carrots!" Taking the cake in his arms, Spencer couldn't stop his dog from getting out as he opened the sliding glass door and carried it to the table, much to the delight of Michelle. Wesley followed him with a few pies. Cutting himself a slice of cake, Spencer took his seat back at the table, his dog's head on resting on its master feet. Looking around, he felt his heart swelling. There were his uncles, laughing, eating, and sharing jokes and stories, and his Aunt Cordelia on Uncle Angel's arm, bright and beautiful as ever. Then, his siblings, who had already attacked their cake, all of them sometimes annoying and intruding, but most of the time fun. Finally, came his parents, who at the moment thought nobody was watching them and were leaning in to kiss one another.

Things were definitely not normal in this house, but as far as love went he knew his relatives would kill, literally, or die for him. He, then, realized he would do exactly the same thing. Was that possibly the meaning of family? He'd look it up later on the Internet.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: The end! Or is it? Spencer can get in a lot more mischief as an eighteen-year-old. Just saying! Read and review!


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